The Temptation of Adam: A Novel by Dave Connis (6)

AT ALL COSTS

I stare at my phone, waiting for Addy to respond to another apology attempt and avoiding my dad’s constant looks. He’s about to talk, but it’s like his paternal vocal chords are rusted over with disuse and he can’t figure out how he wants to start, so he keeps rubbing the back of his neck and taking deep breaths. Finally, he says, “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. It wasn’t intentional. It’s just … I love your mom a lot, and I want to get her back.”

I don’t say anything. This is awkward. He hasn’t actually said anything about The Woman since she left.

“I’ve been thinking that if I make myself better, if I can just figure out what she needs to see in me to be satisfied, she’ll come back.”

He clears his throat. He only does that when he’s getting frustrated.

“I might be addicted to the hope of getting her back. Like it’s my only motivator and maybe I’m too afraid to see what life without that hope would be like. You know?”

I don’t know what to do, so I don’t say anything. Dad and I used to be the joker type of father and son. If we went too deep, we didn’t know what to do, but if we stayed too shallow, it just felt like we were failing. So, we got good at following up a dryly delivered, somewhat true fact with a master joke to keep it from going too far or deep.

“Are you really not going to say anything?” he asks. “You’ve had plenty to say before now, yet, when I’m trying to apologize, you’re silent. That’s really unfair to me, Adam, and pretty hurtful.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I forgive you? You aren’t a shitty dad? We’ll get through this stuff together? It isn’t fair for you to be pissed at me for being uninvolved, and then when I try to apologize, you become uninvolved.”

He’s right; I know he’s right, but he also knows that we’ve never done this sort of honest thing, even before the divorce. This might be the first time he’s ever apologized to me.

Dad sighs. “Ignoring your dad while he’s apologizing isn’t right, Adam.”

“Dad, I’m sorry, and I forgive you, but I don’t want you to overthink all of this and change everything about yourself. I just want you to look at me every once in a while. That’s all. It’s nice not having my dad always in my business.” I internally nod at my use of The Formula of Well-Balanced Relations.

“But my not being in your business obviously went too far, because now you’ve gone off and—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine … but you’re in trouble because of this major thing, so we have to meet in the middle. I’ll figure out how to not disappear, and you have to let me interfere with some of your independence. I’ve given you too much.”

“If there’s one phrase no child wants to hear, it’s I’ve given you too much independence.”

“Adam, do I need to remind you what you did? Why you’re suspended from school?”

I physically can’t say anything. It’s like there’s net in my throat catching all the words before they can come out.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that some of your suspension is my fault, not all of it, but some of it. This is why I keep saying that we both need to change. I know I’m guilty, too, but I think if we stop blocking the world out all the time, we can do it together.”

We pull into the parking lot of Pritchett’s. I reach for the door handle, but he hits the lock button.

“I want your word that we’ll change together. I’m serious, Adam. Our lives need a revamp.”

“Okay.” I press the unlock button, but Dad quickly counters.

“Adam, stop avoiding everything. That isn’t how you fix problems.”

“How would you know?” I snap. “You’ve always avoided everything, and suddenly you’re like a bulldozer attacking the stuff that needs to be worked out full-speed with your loader down.”

Dad rubs his eyes. “You’re right. I just don’t know how else to do it. I’ve never done this before, but it seems like your way of handling this isn’t actually handling it. Mr. Cratcher’s right. You need to start facing yourself.”

“‘Mr. Cratcher’s right’? Damn. Are you in the Anti-Adam Order, too?” I reach for the handle a third time, and this time he doesn’t fight back. “I—I have nothing to face,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Dad, Mark’s waiting.”

“Adam, you’re a smart kid when you want to be. Please use your intelligence to realize what you’ve done. This whole situation is an indicator that something’s up with you.”

“Bye.” I shut the car door and head toward Pritchett’s.

I don’t get how all these people think I’m as messed up as the people at Addiction Fighters. I’m doing fine in school. Well, I was doing fine in school. I’ve never been in a fight. I’ve never done drugs. The societal factors that make a child “troubled” don’t exist with me.

I, Adam Hawthorne, am a hub of fineness and solidity.

I walk into Pritchett’s and see Mark sitting at a bar counter in a corner against the far back left wall. Not my normal spot. After Addiction Fighters, I asked him if he wanted to get a shake and he said yes. I did this un-Adam-like thing, asking someone to hang out, so I could get his thoughts on Mr. Crotcher’s program and the Transparency Forum. I figured his distaste matched mine, and we’d probably have a decent conversation about how stupid this was. Now that I’m walking up to him, I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea. I feel my chest constricting. The words I thought I was going to say zip themselves into my throat.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

I sit down and look at a menu like I’ve never been here before.

“What do you think of the group?” he asks.

I put the menu down. “In my opinion, these kinds of programs are always shallow and forced. The people that experience ‘change’ are just addicted to encouragement and idealism. It’s a bucket’a’bull.”

“Better get used to it,” he says. “If you play along with it, they’ll leave you alone.”

“So, I just have to act like I’m eating everything up, and Mr. Crotcher will think I’m fixed?”

“I guess.” He pulls a cell phone out of his pocket to look at the time. His background is a picture of him pretending to choke a guy who looks just like him in a wheelchair. I laugh and point at it.

“Is that your brother? You guys look alike.”

“Yeah, football injury.”

“That sucks. So … how long have you been in the Knights of Vice?”

“Six months.”

“Good lord, how’s that possible?”

“I’ve been caught with coke three times. I’ve got to be with them for a year. Mr. Cratcher isn’t that bad, though. He really does care.”

“Seems like he’s just bored because his wife’s gone.”

“Nah. He’ll push your buttons, but he wants you to succeed. I just don’t buy into all his ‘humanity needs each other to survive’ shit. I do just fine by myself.”

“I get that.”

Just like that, we run out of things to talk about.

The awkwardness of the moment almost hurts. I immediately regret asking him to hang out, and the look on his face is telling me he’s regretting saying yes. I think being the only person in a room filled with five couples breaking up simultaneously would be less awkward than right now.

I fake a phone call. “Dad, I’m out with someone. Why do I need to come home?” I act like I’m pissed I have to go, but deep down I’m bubbling with joy.

I hang up the phone. “Sorry, man. We didn’t even get to order anything.”

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sure.”

Sorry, Mark, but we’ll never have one-on-one time again. This was incredibly awkward, and I’d like to keep it from happening again at all costs.